


Arthur Pendragon Doesn't Get Nervous

by CreateImagineWrite



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gwaine likes apples, Lance is a darling, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreateImagineWrite/pseuds/CreateImagineWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon doesn’t get nervous – except for when he does. Based on a prompt by sp_owl for the Merlin_Writers August theme. Merthur. Warning: Extreme Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arthur Pendragon Doesn't Get Nervous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SPowell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/gifts).



“I can’t do this,” Arthur moaned, hands fumbling uselessly with his bow tie, before giving up entirely and leaving the piece of black fabric hanging loose around his neck.

Lance snorted, looking ridiculously impeccable in his suit, bow tie perfect at his throat. “Come here,” he said, “Honestly, Arthur.”

The blond turned, one hand running through his hair, making the messily styled locks look, well, more messily styled than before. “I can’t do this.”

“You’re fine,” Lance said reasonably, tying his friend’s bow tie with an unfair amount of ease, before turning him back towards the full length mirror. “There, see?”

Arthur took a look at himself in the reflective glass. “God,” he said, tugging at the perfectly done tie. “I can’t – I look – Where’d you learn how to tie bow ties anyway?” he asked, distractedly.

“YouTube videos,” Lance said solemnly. “Gwen made me do it.”

Arthur snorted, hands going to his hair again. “God. God, Lance. I’m getting married, I’m getting _married_.”

“You get used to the idea,” the brunet told him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Really?” the blond asked, looking a bit pale. “Because I don’t –”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

“How’s the primping going, Princess?” a voice called through it.

“Not a princess,” Arthur muttered half-heartedly, tugging at his bowtie again.

“Stop that,” Lance berated him. “You’ll untie it.”

The door creaked open a crack. “How goes it?” Gwaine asked.

“He’s just a bit nervous,” Lance told him, smiling.

“Just – just a bit,” Arthur said. “Oh _God_ , I’m getting married.”

“Yes, we gathered,” Gwaine said, appearing in the mirror, suit identical to Lance’s, though he managed to – somehow – make it look a bit rumpled and roguish, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. “What with all the getting down on one knee and proposing and throwing away your bachelorhood.” He took a bite out of the apple he was carrying, nonchalant, before waving it around and saying, with his mouth full, “And you didn’t even properly enjoy the stag night! Totally whipped, you are.”

“Married,” Arthur said, not paying attention. “Oh _God_.”

“Come on, mate,” Gwaine said, slapping him roughly on the back. “It’s not so bad. Not like you had much bachelorhood anyways, now that I think about it. This has been a long time coming.”

“Quite,” Lance said, smiling at him in the mirror.

“Lance,” Arthur said, still not paying attention. “Lance, I’m getting _married_.”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” the best man sighed, “sit down, Arthur.”

He shoved the blond down in a chair, and he went willingly, looking a bit pale.

“It’s going to be fine,” Lance assured him. “Come on, this is your wedding, you’re marrying the love of your life. Your father actually got over his stubbornness and showed up. Morgana is bullying the florists, even. It’s going to be fine.”

“Lance,” Arthur said weakly. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Three seconds later, they’d hustled him into the bathroom and he was retching horribly over the marble sink.

“Jesus,” Gwaine said, throwing Lance a stunned look as the brunet rubbed soothing circles into the blond’s back. “Did you do this before your wedding?”

Lance sighed. “No. Arthur…?”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” the man said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and glancing up into the bathroom mirror, face deathly pale. “ _God_.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Gwaine asked, looking a bit out of his depth as Arthur started retching again.

Lance ran a hand through his hair. “I give up. Go get Merlin.”

Gwaine blinked. “Isn’t there something about not seeing…”

Lance shot him a look. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Gwaine shrugged. “Not really.” He tossed his apple core in the trashcan and headed for the door.

“No!” Arthur stopped him. “I don’t want Merlin to –”

“Arthur,” Lance interrupted. “You’re throwing up into the sink. I know for a fact that you want this wedding to happen, so let’s get you calmed down, yeah?”

“I just… I don’t want him to think that I don’t want…” His face crumpled. “It’s just nerves, right? I can… we can figure out something…”

“Get Merlin,” Lance told Gwaine.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Lance insisted.

“But – ,” Arthur began.

“Arthur, think about it,” his best man said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Who do you want to see right now?”

“I guess… Merlin.”

“Who will make you feel better right now?”

“Merlin. But I’m not supposed to –”

“It’s traditionally supposed to be the bride you’re not allowed to see,” Lance pointed out, “and Merlin isn’t exactly a _bride_.”

“I… I guess,” Arthur said, blue eyes big in his pale face.

“Go get Merlin,” Lance told Gwaine.

“On it,” the roguish brunet said, saluting and heading for the door.

Arthur ran both hands through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Lance gave him a small smile in the mirror. “Merlin loves you. He’s not going to care, Arthur.”

“But it’s our wedding. I’m not supposed to throw up before our _wedding_.”

“Who’s throwing up?” a familiar, welcome voice asked from the doorway. A second later, a man in a beautiful white suit stepped into the bathroom. When he saw Arthur, he smiled fondly. “Oh, love, c’mere.”

Lance moved out of the way as the two embraced, Arthur’s hands sliding up the other man’s back to twine into his dark hair, nosing into his neck. “Sorry,” he muttered into his fiancé’s skin, not noticing as his best man sneaked out of the room. “I know we’re not supposed to see each other.”

“I’m not complaining,” Merlin laughed, pulling back. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Hardly,” Arthur said, “I’ve just been throwing up.”

“You could be covered in horse dung and you’d still be gorgeous,” Merlin informed him, running greedy hands from his soon-to-be-husband’s waist up to his pectorals.

The blond made a face, trapping his hands as they made their way back down. “Horse dung? Really, Merlin?”

The man shrugged. “First thing I thought of.” He smiled. “So, throwing up, I hear?”

Arthur’s gaze flitted to the floor. “Sorry. I just. Nerves? I don’t know,” he sounded frustrated. “I love you. I don’t understand why this is so hard.”

“I did say we could elope,” Merlin said, stepping close to him.

“No,” Arthur said, “You always wanted a big wedding. You told me so.”

“But what about what you want? It’s not too late to call it off, love.”

The blond looked at him helplessly. “I just want _you_.” He clasped Merlin’s hands in his own, running his thumb along the engraved engagement ring on the man’s left ring finger. “Everything else is just…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Merlin leaned up and captured his lips. “You have me, you know.”

Arthur leaned down and kissed him again. “I know. I know I do. My stomach, apparently, does not.”

Merlin laughed. “Just so you know, the girls and I have already been through three boxes of Kleenex, so you’re not alone in being a ball of roiling emotions.”

“Three boxes?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought the crying was supposed to happen during the ceremony.”

“And I thought Arthur Pendragon didn’t get nervous,” Merlin teased.

The blond groaned and dropped his head into the curve of his fiancé’s shoulder. “I want to marry you.”

“You are. Twenty minutes and we’ll be saying ‘I do,’ I promise.”

“You promise?” Arthur asked, a bit petulantly.

“Promise,” Merlin whispered, smile in his voice. “And then there’ll be food and dancing, and then you can whisk me off to whatever part of the world you’ve chosen for our honeymoon. Where is it, anyways?”

“It’s a surprise,” Arthur growled, pulling back to glare at him half-heartedly.

His fiancé smiled mischievously. “Worth a try. But yes, in a handful of hours, we’ll be on our honeymoon.” He leaned in close, lips brushing against Arthur’s ear. “And then, I’ll make all the nerves worthwhile, _husband_ ,” he whispered seductively.

A thrill sparked up Arthur’s spine. “Mer _lin_ – ”

The brunet leaned in and kissed the rest of the sentence silent, pressing Arthur against the bathroom counter, before pulling away, lips red. “Twenty minutes,” he repeated, a bit breathless.

“Too long,” Arthur groaned.

Merlin smiled, brushing a strand of gold hair away from his face. “Soon, love.” He stole one last kiss, before moving away completely and heading for the door. “I’ll see you at the altar,” he called as he left.

Lance stepped through the door as he left.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, “Yeah, I think I’m okay.”

“Good, stay that way, would you, because I don’t even want to _think_ about why Merlin told me to say ‘honeymoon’ if you start looking nauseous.”


End file.
